The Revenge of Harry Potter
by nurgle.devoutee
Summary: AU. Harry is drawn forcefully back to the wizarding world after years on the run. He's Britain's Most Wanted. Some things change, but a lot stays the same.
1. Chapter 1

1.1  
On this street, all shops but one had closed for the night. Under a television sky and rain that cuts sideways, people hurry through shadows cast by the restaurant's harsh fluorescent lights, coats drawn and shoulders hunched. No one talks, no one smiles. The sound of a car backfiring goes ignored. Then, across the road, a man appears where no one was before.

Chang's Peking adverts yell "The Best Peking Duck In Town" and a string of animal carcasses hang behind the window. 'Fresh always sells,' thinks the man as he strides across the street, dodging slow-moving cars honking horns and screaming cabbies with the ease of a seasoned Urbanite.

Sheltered from the rain, large dinner parties and smiling families are sitting around tables heaped high with food and cheer.

The door chimes as he walks in and Jose, the door greeter, goes from smiling to frowning.

"Mrs. Chang is looking for you. She won't be happy you're late again," says Jose.

Harry smiles and nods his head. He doesn't speak much, especially to the greeter. There is a hierarchy within Chang's Peking. You don't speak to those of a lower position than you. It's just not done. Jose is a contradiction, a Hispanic working for an all-you-can-eat buffet style Chinese restaurant. Unlike Harry who does a bit of everything because he is Mrs. Chang's shift filler, Jose always stands at the door. He always greets the guests, and seats them before the servers come to take their order; he is fiercely loyal to the owner.

Harry checks his coat and hat at the door with Jose and walks to the back of the house.

Mrs. Chang stands in the doorway between the floor and the kitchen. The look she gives him shows neither disgust or contempt, but thinly veiled concern. Her face is stoic as they make eye contact. He knows that the older woman is too prideful to ask him if there is anything wrong, however, as long as he shows up for his shifts, even if he's late, Mrs. Chang won't say anything to him. Harry Potter is her best employee. He has endeared himself to Mrs. Chang just by showing up with consistency.

Her establishment is a revolving door of faces that are seen once, maybe twice. Inevitably they go missing, and Mrs. Chang is left short staffed. The only other member of the house that's been here longer than Harry is the Head Chef and rumor is he sleeps in the back after hours.

Harry acknowledges the older woman with a nod of his head and makes his pleasantries before cutting past her slim figure to get to the back room. She follows him.

The few people in the back scatter and start acting like they're deeply involved in some day-to-day aspect of the business. They all have time to kill. No new orders are up and the tables are filled to capacity. But no new faces are coming in. Stacks of dishes need washing, woks need to be cleaned out and ready for the cook's next round. Empty steam table bins float around in a sink full of hot water and heavy degreaser.

Harry sighs. After putting his hair net on, he reaches around his back with heavily scarred arms to tie off an apron.

It's going to be a long night.

Hours later, the restaurant is shutting down. The evening staff has all hit the clock. A lone figure remains. Harry's apron is dirty from different wok sauces and his own handprints. There's a towel over his shoulders and he's elbow-deep in a sink full of hot water.

A heavy lather has built upon the dish he's cleaning. Lost in thought, around him, other kitchen tools, dishes, and debris from the day float around taking care of themselves. Binning, washing, and drying. Harry always completes his task on time, no matter the workload. Like magic, when 11 PM struck, Harry prepares to walk out the back door.

Mrs. Chang's apartment is on top of the building. He would stop by the small flight of steps on his way out calling out 'Good Night' before shutting off the lights.

Unlike other nights, when Harry steps out the back he doesn't hear the usual traffic sounds or the pattering of rain on pools of water in the back alley by the dumpster. His eyes narrow. He's not alone. Staccato cracks of apparition and the sound of swirling wet cloaks confirm it.

The obligatory "Don't put up a fight, Potter, we've got you surrounded," is spoken by a gruff and scarred man, wearing a red cloak. They found him again. Usually, Harry had some kind of warning and could vanish without a trace. This time, they have caught him mid-sleeve of putting on his raincoat as he stepped out the back door. That's smart of them.

"Alastor Moody," says Harry. No intonation, no excitement, just a statement of fact. "I thought you'd be dead by now. I keep getting older, and you just keep staying the same."

Moody doesn't smile, his lips are pulled taut. But what Harry notices most is his magical eye: it doesn't swivel. "You should have stayed with us, Potter. This..." he gestures at himself, "is a benefit of His benevolence. Only through the Greater Good is order kept."

Harry laughs. For the first time in a long while, he finds something truly humorous. The words are so emphasized he can hear the capitals clearly. Harry can tell Moody feels no amusement at the younger man's words. They only feed his determination.

Drawing his wand up from his side, Moody points it at Harry. There is no menace, no intimidation, just the certainty of a man and his dogma. "Now, why don't you be a good lad, and come with us back to England? If you do, we won't burn this muggle shop."

Harry sighs and shrugs. He can't let the rest of them know that he actually cares about the old woman asleep in her bed in the upstairs apartment. "I'll be sure to apologize to Tonks at your funeral." Before any of the other Aurors could react, darkness, absolute in its opacity, sweeps the group. Harry says a silent "thank you" to the Weasley twin that's still alive for the invention of Peruvian darkness powder, before flicking his wand up sharply before bringing it down just as sharply, tearing Moody's spell down with it. The honking of late evening traffic and the pitter-patter of rain rush in, filling the vacuum of silence. He thrusts his wand deeper towards the ground and the anti-apparition jinx shatters.

There is chaos and confusion and his name is Harry Potter.

Curses and screams and flashes of spell-light zip around Harry, but miss him as if by divine intervention. Harry steps through the group of Aurors. A muttered cutting curse cripples three, a whip of white flame scorches more. It's long past the time for knock-outs. He seeks finality.

Mrs. Chang would never forgive him if he lets her livelihood burn. In seconds, the only person standing is Moody, though little of the Moody Harry once knew remains. This one's eyes are wide, glimmering with emotions: insanity, anger, fervent loyalty, and the absolute certainty that he's doing the right thing, damn the consequences.

Moody remains unscathed where men a third his age fall. He is still every bit the seasoned Auror, Dumbledore's experiments aside.

His eyes lock onto Harry, and he snarls out a spell, "Avada-"

Harry apparates to the right of him. He leans in and whispers into Moody's ear, the man immobile but trembling with the strain of trying to fight the spell holding him in place.

"Voldemort tried to kill me with that spell, Alastor. But it didn't work; you think you'd have more luck?" Harry sees Moody shaking, not from fear, but from the struggle.

His hold falters, just for an instant. Against a lesser man, it might not have mattered. But this is Alastor Moody.

"Fiendfyre!"

Harry's hand turns white around his wand. Moody is brought to heel, but the damage is done. Mrs. Chang's is consumed in an instant, brick, and glass igniting like dry tinder. Wood turns to ash, quicker than any transfiguration.

Harry's pupils pinprick from the ferocity of the light. Time stops around him - that old bastard Moody still stands where he was before, wand still out. Moody's satisfaction is thick in the air.

Harry's vision tunnels and Moody's eyes widen. Harry's jab with his wand is instant and Moody's eyes struggle to keep up. Moody's good leg is now a twisted pile of splintered bone, flesh and blood. Yet, he does not scream, refusing to show weakness even while prone.

"Now you've got two bad legs. Strange Dumbledore gave you immortality but not a new leg? I suppose he has no choice now," Harry says. Moody does not speak and Harry frowns.

This time he bends Moody's wand arm til it cracks. Again, silence. Harry snarls, the sound falling flat against the damp walls of the alley.

There's a flash of red light and Moody's head parts from his body.

Harry let his anger get the best of him. Gloating monologues and long torture sessions is the domain of dead Dark Lords. Harry prefers to kill quick and kill thoroughly. He's learned that a man who leaves little evidence of their actions becomes myth and can hold an entire country hostage.

Voldemort taught him that much.

Harry looks back at the burning building. The flames have consumed the entire upper storey and are starting to spread. The rain vanishes against the flames, doing nothing to temper their appetite. He regrets not being able to save Mrs. Chang. He says a silent prayer that her death was quick, and painless. He prepares to leave.

"You think this is bad, Potter?" Moody's head speaks. "Wait until the others find you."

Harry turns, more curious than startled. "So it's true. You cannot die. Even decapitation doesn't seem to stop you. I thought for sure that would've been enough." Moody's body lies immobile, but his head has rolled closer to Harry's feet.

Moody hacks up and spits at Harry's feet. "We won't ever stop, boy. We've been following you for a long time -" He draws a ragged breath from non-existent lungs. "You're not as slick as you think you are, hiding among these muggles." He spits the word muggles much like the phlegm that now coats Harry's shoes.

"Dumbledore's truly done a number on you, Alastor." The rage Harry felt before at the destruction of the restaurant is waning. In its place is a sad realization. "You're not the man I once knew, Moody. What has Dumbledore done to you, that would twist you in such a way? What did he do to ensure your loyalty? Don't you realize that what you're doing is wrong?"

During his time as a wizard, Harry has seen stranger things than a talking decapitated head. Honestly, it didn't even rank.

Moody's head snarls, "He has made me better, stronger, faster than before. I am what every wizard in the Empire aspires to be. I am his most-" Harry cuts him off; he has no time for insane ramblings.

"Maybe. Sure isn't doing you any good right now," Harry says. Turning to face the fiendfyre, he sweeps his wand in a circle, capturing control of the flames and imposing his will upon them.

"This is just the start, Harry Potter. There is nowhere you can hide now that Dumbledore cannot see. Your friends, acquaintances, anyone who's ever sold you a fucking newspaper, we know everything."

The fire roars, fed further by Harry's now building anger. Moody pushes buttons Harry's forgot he has. Fiendfyre is chief among magical fires because it is alive, and it will fight anyone who threatens it. While he cannot put the fire out, Harry has one more use for it. His wand snaps around like a circus master's whip and a torrent of flame shoots out, lunging for Mad-Eye.

Moody smiles.

The headless body stands behind Harry, his ruined leg having healed itself. A calculation Harry hadn't considered. It lunges for its severed head, and upon contact, vanishes. A portkey.

Harry scowls. Only an immortal with Mad Eye's tolerance for pain could've pulled that off. He won't let it happen again.

Muggle EMS and Fire Rescue sirens chime in the background, their wail a reminder of the destruction around him. Harry waves his wand and the world corrects itself. Bodies vanish, blood and the signs of struggle going with it.

The Statute must be kept, after all.

-

FIRE CONTINUES TO RAGE: Rampant Destruction Comes to American Muggle Town

Harry James Potter is the number one suspect in the ongoing investigation. Turn to Pg. 6 for damning testimony from esteemed Auror, Alastor Moody.

-

It has been ten years since Harry Potter vacated the wizarding world. With the experience of his youth and summers spent at the Dursleys, he was able to live as a muggle and go unnoticed for a time. Things had changed with the death of Dumbledore and the end of Voldemort's reign.

But then again, no one in the wizarding world expected the epitome a "Good Wizard" to be resurrected as a malicious and twisted thing- a complete abomination of his former self.

With Dumbledore's revival came an order of change for the wizarding world. Many welcomed him with open arms. It only seemed right that Albus Dumbledore, master of magic and long forgotten spells of the Arcane would be able to come back from death. Those that didn't welcome him vanished with haste, never to be seen again.

Dumbledore's resurrection had been the last day Harry had spent in Wizarding Britain, and his first day as a murderer. He had plotted and waited for Dumbledore to show his face at his first speech as leader of wizarding Britain. Before the man could speak his first words, the death curse had been on Harry's lips. It was a shame that Kingsley Shacklebolt had taken the spell in Dumbledore's stead.

Harry has all but forgiven the old man for masquerading as the grandfather he never had. Teaching him, training him to be the savior the wizarding world truly needed. But what no one had ever considered was that Voldemort wasn't the one to be feared. Dumbledore's machinations had been the ultimate betrayal to Harry, for when Voldemort had laid siege to Hogwarts, Harry was given to believe that it was his destiny, and walked before the Dark wizard like an animal for slaughter.

But even that too, could be forgiven. Dumbledore had only been doing what he thought was right. He'd once told Harry that, "The most signifying characteristic of a great leader, Harry, is the conviction to make a decision."

All his talks of the next great adventure had been a lie. He'd stashed away a Horcrux in the last moments of his life, made from desperation and fear of the unknown. A life lived and wasted in pursuit of something just at the edge of his grasp. Only to be yanked away by his young apprentice.

Birds fly in the distance, seagulls caw, and the sound of waves crashing on the shore greet the lone figure walking on a windy and vacant beach.

Harry Potter has come back to Britain.

In a distant tower, far away from the coastline, an auburn-haired wizard sits plotting.


	2. Chapter 2

1.2  
Hogsmeade Village isn't the place that Harry wants to go to first, but to understand the extent of Dumbledore's control; he needs to be near the immortal's seat of power. The land surrounding Hogwarts had taken significant damage in the fight against Voldemort, but much of the destroyed landmarks are being rebuilt.

Harry stands on the drive leading to was once the Shrieking Shack but is now a menagerie of some sort. Livestock wanders a paddock, magical and non-magical. What once was the Forbidden Forest, is a much diminished wooded area, and is visible off in the distance. During Dumbledore's reconstruction, there was no room for creature equality. Those that didn't assimilate to his ideals were killed and others like the Centaurs fled back to their homelands.

The town stretches before Harry, the dim light of dusk broken up by the weak illumination of the street light. Low-lying chimney smoke in the residential district makes it possible for Harry to walk down the main street of Hogsmeade without drawing attention to him.

Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes is a new addition to the streetside. The twins' garish storefronts are a staple in all wizarding societies, however, in Britain; George is only allowed to operate under Dumbledore's rule and strict regulation. Anything considered contraband is removed from the shelves, and monthly audits ensure they are following the rules. Elsewhere they are allowed to operate more freely, those places accounting for most of their profit.

Standing on the stoop of the shop, Harry sees a light in the back. Their door knocker bears runes for identification and intent and they flare briefly along the entryway before the door jerks open and a wand is shoved in Harry's hooded face.

"Password."

It is Bill Weasley. The dim light from the back room does nothing to make his scarred face any less intimidating. Harry can only imagine what it took for Bill to get a license to operate a store this close to Hogwarts.

Harry speaks the coded phrase and Bill steps aside. Recognition and joy flicker across the man's face.

Bill shuts the door behind them quickly and just as Harry is about to pull back the hood of his cloak, he's pulled into a gruff hug. The man places the younger wizard down with a rueful smile and an apology on his lips.

"Sorry, Harry, I didn't mean to rag doll you."

Harry chuckles, unable to maintain the frown on his face. "Not a problem, Bill. It's just good to be back in welcome company. If I wasn't so tired, I'd reciprocate. It's wonderful seeing a familiar face."

The sound of Harry's laugh breaks the dam of silence, and from the back room, two Hogwarts age children come running into the room, they stare at Harry before recognition hits them and they run up and wrap their arms around his torso. A beautiful platinum-haired witch follows closely behind. The children between them, Fleur leans and gives Harry a soft peck on the cheek before returning to her husband's side.

"My, my, Harry Potter, and what has you darkening our doorstep on this early morning." Harry notes that the Veela's English is much improved, but her accent still lingers. The children release him, their cries of Uncle Harry fading to the background as the adults finish their greeting.

"Not much, Fleur, I was just passing through and figured I'd come by and see my favorite couple," Harry says as he reciprocates the kiss on Fleur's cheek. He gives Bill a wink which causes the man to laugh.

Realizing that they are all standing in the window in clear view of the street, Bill speaks again, "Harry, why don't you join us upstairs for some breakfast. We were just about to get the kids ready for school, but that's no reason to be impolite to our guest."

With a look to Fleur he continues, "Fleur my dear, could you please put on a pot? I'll get the children out the door and over to Mum's and then join you two."

Three people sit around a small table in the kitchen. The warm atmosphere shared between friends has a great impact on Harry. He has just finished apologizing to Bill and Fleur again for dropping in unannounced while they keep saying "family needed no excuse to visit, Britain's most wanted or not."

The elder Mrs. Weasley's tendencies seem to have finally rubbed off on Fleur, who keeps trying to push food on Harry as he takes in the scene around them. He answers questions when spoken to, and politely declines any more food. His plate is already full enough.

While not outright repealing Werewolf regulation, Dumbledore has made it easier for the victims of werewolf attacks to get a job and become productive members of society. It doesn't hurt that Dumbledore owes him one since it was his position in the Order of the Phoenix that caused Fenrir Greyback to maul him. While he does not suffer the transformations, Bill is still monitored during a full moon by trained Ministry personnel.

Hundreds of years of stigmas are hard to replace. Despite all of that, Harry is happy for them. They have two children: Louis and Victoire, and despite the mixed feelings associated with Bill's condition, they are doing well for themselves.

Moving, smiling family portraits line the walls. Faces he hasn't seen in a long time. Harry feels ashamed that he has to ask for a favor. It's been ten years, and he can only imagine how they feel, having him showing up with no notice, interrupting the life they have built.

Fleur finishes telling him about Victoire and Louis's studies and how they were adapting to the world at large. They were born after the conflict so they didn't have to go through the turmoil of transition, just live it. Fleur seems to realize the pleasantries were coming to an end and that business needed to be discussed.

"Can I refresh your tea Harry," she says, gesturing at his cup, "If not, I need to go make sure the children didn't leave their rooms in complete disarray."

Harry shakes his head and says, "No thank you, Fleur. If it's no problem with you, I'm going to lean on Bill's ear for a bit longer. Then I will be out of your hair. Thank you for the company."

Bill chimes in then, "It's not a problem Harry. Like I said before, that's what family is for. You're always welcome in our household." The warmth in Fleur's eyes strains at her husband's words, Harry can see it clearly. His warm welcome is coming to an end.

Fleur walks out of the room. Bill stands and invites Harry into his office in a room just off the kitchen. From the exterior of the shop, you wouldn't know there was even a second storey on the building. Bill waves his hand at a chair, urging Harry to take a seat. Taking his own chair, he waves his wand at the door and the sounds from the rest of the house cut off.

Harry remembers then that Bill was a curse-breaker before he became proprietor of the shop in Hogsmeade. Their conversation would not be overheard. Harry starts simple.

"How are things, Bill?" he says, the tone of his voice imploring for more than surface niceties.

Bill frowns. "Not as good as they could be Harry. I'm mayor of Hogsmeade if you didn't know; I was placed in charge because Dumbledore feels I can keep things in order." Harry didn't know, Bill caught the look of surprise on his face. He laughs, but it's not a laugh of joy. "I hope you realize that you being here can't be a long-term thing. I'd like nothing more than to offer you shelter, but I get visits from the Ministry all the time. In fact, later today, we're scheduled for our monthly audit. What do you need?"

The abruptness of his question throws Harry off kilter. In comparison to the warm welcome he received earlier, the cool business-like statement of facts makes him tentative to proceed. He had come here seeking an "in", a way into Dumbledore's circle or at the very least a list of contacts that wouldn't draw suspicion. He had need for a foothold within Britain, people were coming after him, and he needed to know why. When he cut ties, he lost contact with everyone. He needed locations and names.

And Harry had come to the person he thought could help him most, but he didn't realize he might cause complications for Bill. It never occurred to him that Bill would be Mayor of the town.

"My request is simple," Harry says, "I need a bit of spending money because Muggle currency won't spend in the wizarding world, and I need a safe house. Somewhere I can operate without drawing any attention, and I need a new identity. I cannot be seen as Harry Potter walking down the streets of a world where I'm wanted."

Harry can tell that Bill is leaning towards denial. He understands already, without having to hear the man's argument. Bill doesn't want to dirty his hands. He doesn't need this drama going on near his family. He doesn't want to be caught in the crossfire. Ten years ago Bill would have helped him. No matter how fucked the situation.

Bill starts to speak, but Harry raises his hand to stop him. "I know that I'm asking for a lot. But, please, give me this, and I will be out your house, and I won't bother your family again. You have to understand. Alastor Moody and a group of his sycophants tracked me down. Something's motivated Dumbledore to come for me when he hasn't given me a single thought in ten years. I need to know why, and I want to put a stop to any further attempts to get to me."

Again, Bill opens his mouth to speak but closes it. The fire crackles in the background as silence takes the place of conversation in the room. The man chews his lip for a moment longer before finally giving his decision.

"Fine Harry. Just know, I wish I could do more. I really do, but I see you understand why I can't. I won't make any further excuses." Bill says this as he pulls a roll of parchment from the drawer of his desk, along with a jingling pouch.

He throws the pouch across the desk before writing on the piece of parchment. Then he gets up and walks around the desk. Harry stands to meet him. Shoving the list into Harry's hands, Bill grabs him in another hug. "Mum talked about you, constantly, she misses you. She used to stare out the window of the Burrow and talk to herself, wondering where you were, how you were. When you left, she was devastated. So was Ginny. No one expected that you would just vanish. A bit of warning would have been nice."

It pains Harry knowing his departure had hurt his family. But the only way his escape from Britain would have been successful was if no one knew. Dumbledore was the elite of the elite, and Harry had worked long and hard as his apprentice and later as his enemy to hide secrets from him. Something that grated on Harry's nerves to no end was that air of omniscience that Dumbledore always affected when dealing with other people.

The first time Harry met Dumbledore was when the man invited him to his office. Before he could knock, the man had called for him to enter and the door swung open. Harry remembered thinking that it had been rude, and he could tell by Dumbledore's laughter he seemed to know it as well even when his face had showed no sign of annoyance.

He later learned the old man could read his mind. Harry's broadcasted thoughts and emotions were like an open book.

Harry made a promise then that his secrets would always be his secrets.

Harry looks Bill in the eye. He bit his lip, trying, but failing to say something. Anything that would explain everything and wash away the years like they had never happened, however, the thing, a poor excuse, that came from his lips was weak and ineffectual.

"Bill, I'm… I'm sorry. I wish I had told someone, but I just couldn't. I would never have been allowed to leave. You know my position. You know what I had going against me. If anyone had known, anyone at all, I would be stuck here, just as you are now. And I just can't be someone's patsy. I can't do something when everything within me is screaming that it's wrong." He ran his hands through his hair. He had hoped for a calm conversation, a bit of information gathering, and then to be on his merry way. Already, he had spent too much time sitting in one place.

He could see the impact of his words. The redheaded man flinched like he'd been struck. Harry knew in the time before his departure, he and the older man had become close friends. Like brothers. It was hard dealing with the fallout of being attacked by a werewolf.

People treated Bill like he carried the blight, that if they stood in one place near him for too long they would catch it.

Mothers shielded their children from him, and friends that he had through his job and working as a curse breaker would have nothing to do with him anymore. And then, there was Harry. Their friendship had blossomed because they both were recovering. Harry having come out of the war and wanting peace from his adoring fans, and Bill just needing human interaction. He had left them with the contents of his vault, and all the goodwill he could muster. Then, Harry had become a wanted man. He had attempted to assassinate Dumbledore in a very public place. It hadn't gone well.

Half the Auror force was put out of commission, and to this day, some of the spell damage on Diagon Alley had yet to be fixed.

Harry could tell Bill wanted to say so much more, but he knew that he couldn't. He couldn't run the risk of his family taking fire because of his friendship with Harry, no matter how strong the bond. So, he took the younger man's words for what they were, bottled up any kind of aggression he may have felt, and smiled. He'd gotten a lot better over the years controlling his anger, he had to, and instead of continuing the conversation further he let it drop.

"Well Harry, it was great to see you. I hope that we can meet again under better terms. I'm sorry that I can't help you more. Our audit begins in thirty minutes, so if I were you, I'd be going," he says, lifting the locking and privacy charms on the door of his office.

The sounds of Fleur in the kitchen were a backdrop to the awkwardness that fills the room now. Harry palms the jingling bag and slips it into an inner pocket of his traveling coat. He eyeballs the location of first person on the list before shoving that into his pocket as well.

"I'll be going then," he says, readying himself for some quick apparition.

Before he can disappear, Bill steps forward and slips one more bag into his hands under the guise of giving him a hug. Bill says, "If you do anything, at least go say hello to Mum. She's missed you."

Harry nods his head, no words needed, and with a crack like a gunshot, he's gone.

Fleur walks into the room and wraps her husband in a strong hug. Bill's shoulders shake as the tension leaves his body and tears fill his eyes.


	3. Chapter 3

1.3  
A dingy smoke-filled bar surrounds Harry. He's been in The Leaky Cauldron for the past forty-five minutes now. He could barely see it, but the sun was just beginning to sink below the skyline outside. The atmosphere inside the bar is subdued, but then again, despite being the portal for one of Britain's largest magical shopping districts, The Leaky Cauldron was never a place that drew a crowd.

He watches the meal belonging to the couple next to him rise and begin to creep itself off the table. Elsewhere in the room, hags sit in corners counting to themselves their number of fingernails, and people entering from the back door cross the floor to Diagon Alley's only proper physical entrance.

There's a young woman manning the bar. Her red hair is familiar, but Harry can't quite place her face. It appears Tom has relinquished control of the bar to someone else during his absence.

Dark cold beer in a dirty glass sits on the table in front of Harry, waiting to be drunk. His first sip of the evening washes the thick feeling from the back of his throat. Something about magical tobacco smoke never quite agrees with him.

He stops paying attention to his surroundings to plan his next move. There are many things to do: find out why the Ministry is after him, glean recent news from eavesdropping on the conversations around him, and judge the general atmosphere of the world. Harry's most obvious weakness is that he is disconnected. He owns little resource that isn't tied up in Ministry litigation - they've been trying to seize his vaults for years now, but the goblins refuse to cooperate.

The world abroad sings nothing but Dumbledore's praises. With Dumbledore's death, the position of Chief Warlock of the ICW fell to someone else, and many laughed at Britain's endless struggles with Death Eaters and Dark Lords. The man had taken the rebuilding of the wizarding world post-Voldemort by the reins and they prospered.

Now, Britain is the magical destination. People want to visit, to marvel at the innovations in a place the world at large once considered quaint.

Inevitably, his mind circles back to the names on his list. With each name a face appears and he doesn't want to see their faces again. They'll thaw the regret that sits in his heart.

He could have been with them, his friends. Dumbledore had offered him a place within the empire he was creating but Harry turned it down. He isn't blind like everyone else and nor could he find it within himself to forgive the man for what he had done. Besides, being an outcast for the past ten years was illuminating. Rewarding. Minus the attempts on his life.

Surveying the wizards around him he finds their docility to be almost Stepford-like. He's walked back into a completely foreign world when it shouldn't be.

His thoughts are interrupted by the barkeep. She gets closer to his table, her face coming into focus. Chipper smile and warm greeting die on her lips.

Ginny Weasley doesn't look happy to see her ex-lover, Britain's Most Wanted.

-  
The redheaded woman's anger is palpable. Harry hadn't made any attempt to disguise himself from the other patrons. It's only through sheer British indifference that he hasn't been identified yet. She makes a beeline for his table, other guests calling out to her for drink refills, but she pays them no mind.

As soon as she steps into the space surrounding Harry's table, his spell takes effect. An outside observer would see her arms gesturing wildly but remain unable to hear a single word being said.

"You've got some fucking nerve, showing your face here Potter!" Ginny spits his name like a curse. Her lip is snarled and her skin is flushed. The cheerful woman he observed earlier is nowhere to be seen. Harry can't help but admire how attractive her outrage makes her look, but past relationship or not, he couldn't let that affect how their conversation went.

He speaks as if talking about the weather, "Oh. Hello, Ginny, it's nice to see you too. Please, have a seat." He smiles then, fingers crossed she takes the hint and sits down instead of drawing more attention to them. She snorts at him, her anger having turned from a roaring boil to a slow simmer.

"I don't have time for this right now! I have no one to cover my shift. If you really want to talk to me, you can come find me when my shift ends in twenty minutes. Meet me out back on the Alley at -"

Harry cuts her off there. "As much as I'd like to take a nice evening stroll along Diagon, I'm not yet prepared enough, nor do I want to have to fight for my life, this being my first day back in Britain and all," he pauses thinking, "how about you meet me over at that Italian place down the block on the muggle side of things? Less attention there I would think."

Ginny gives no indication of comprehension other than a terse "fine" before stomping off. As she steps out of Harry's quiet zone the frown falls from her face, and she's back to greeting just like before.

Harry drains his pint from the dirty glass and leaves a couple of sickles on the table for a tip before getting up and leaving.

-  
One thing Harry enjoys about his muggle lifestyle is how clean everything is. As a stark comparison to his earlier location, the muggle restaurant he had reserved a table for two with is decidedly a much livelier atmosphere. The windows are clear, and he can see the streetlights lit up clearly outside. There is no traffic this evening. It could be the time of day, but it appears everyone is either inside or somewhere else that didn't require any traveling.

The one perk of being a wizard is the convenience of apparition. Harry utilizes many different muggle modes of transportation, but he doesn't enjoy the feeling of being stuffed into a sardine can whenever he had to go somewhere. Leaving one place instantly and appearing in another never got old for Harry, and he had become quite good at it.

He had decided to meet with Ginny because - he thinks, and if he's completely honest with himself - because he misses her. Their relationship never progressed past romantic encounters in some dark broom closet and he had left when they finally started taking their relationship seriously, even committing to letting the family know they were seeing each other.

The young muggle waitress comes by and refreshes his wine glass. Ginny has yet to arrive, and even though they hadn't specified an exact time, she's now twenty minutes past the end of her shift. He toys with just walking to the restroom and apparating away, he has other people he can talk to. He doesn't need to wait here.

He's just begun to pull some muggle currency from his pocket to leave when the front door of the establishment chimes. The entrance is blocked from view by a decorative half-wall and a crawling topiary of indoor plants.

She is still smiling from her conversation with the female concierge that is escorting her to his table. As soon as her gaze makes contact with his, her smile vanishes. The concierge pulls her chair out for her before offering up the wine selection. "We have a nice selection of wine tonight. Could I offer any of these to sample?"

Ginny gestures at Harry. "I'll have what he's having," she says. The concierge nods before speaking, "And would you two like a bit more time to consider your order?" Harry doesn't have time for social niceties, but he notes the professionalism in which the woman runs through her routine.

"I think we'll need a few minutes longer if you don't mind. I haven't had a chance to read through everything, and I'll need her input," Harry says, nodding towards Ginny, "... to decide on a starter."

"I'll come back in just a few moments to check then, please, take your time," the woman says. As she walks off she cocks her head at the server and waves four fingers at him. A young man comes over to their table and makes a big show of uncorking a bottle of wine and filling Ginny's glass before walking away.

While her attitude is still there, Harry notices that despite her forced responses that Ginny is starting to relax a bit and starts to ask more personal questions about his time away. He's glad she doesn't do the whole 'I missed you' thing, or the crying. Even with his experiences behind him now, Harry still couldn't handle a crying woman. Growing up the way he had, and then later apprenticing under Dumbledore, Harry had never cried himself, so he lacked the empathy to connect with someone that was, and he's just awkward enough that he ran the risk of making the situation worse. Also, despite himself Harry's having a good time.

It's nice being in familiar company, especially that of an attractive woman. Ginny is finishing her last course, Harry had long eaten his, and he prepares to get to the real reason for their meeting.

Just as he's about to speak, the sounds of multiple apparitions fill the room and the muggle diners scream out before they all fall asleep, a victim to an area-wide sleeping spell.

Harry takes a sip of his wine before calmly putting his hands on the table palms down. The Aurors that surrounded him flinch at his casual movement, Harry's past actions in Diagon Alley a firm reminder of what he is capable of doing.

A young Auror steps forward from the back of the group of men, "Let's not be hasty or make any rash decisions you might regret, Mr. Potter," he says, "We're not here to attack you, but it's our duty to bring you in."

Another Auror in the group sucks air through his teeth in frustration, a snarl on his face, "Fuck being nice to him Jones, he killed my brother at Diagon. I'm going to break his fucking legs."

Harry recognizes the angry Auror as being the younger brother of Derek McNeil, Ryan. Any inclination of an easy exit is wiped from thought.

"I remember you," says Harry to Ryan McNeil. "Your brother was a Death Eater sympathizer, a wolf masquerading in sheep's clothing. He wasn't worth the spell I used to kill him."

This enrages the Auror further. Any kind of control that 'Jones' is trying to maintain is shot as soon as McNeil starts to cast the first spell, some bright purple spell, the other Aurors take action as well.

Harry waves his wand; transfiguring the trash in from of the table Ginny and he were seated into a wall as tall as the room. He turns quickly to Ginny, tapping her wineglass with his wand and creating a portkey. "Take this," he says, thrusting it into her hand. "I'll find you. It looks like they were paying more attention to my friends than I thought. My mistake. Moody told me, and I was a fool to underestimate him."

Before Ginny could say anything, he says the activation phrase and she vanishes from the room. Meanwhile, his barricade has been quickly turned to rubble. Spells zip past his head in various colors and lethality.

Waving his wand again causes some more of the debris from the destroyed to fly up around him as a small flock of birds. He uses them to soak up some of the spells so that he doesn't need to waste movement on dodging. The signature green of the Avada Kedavra attracts one of the canaries to it, the bird falls to the ground, dead.

Harry takes note of the direction the spell originates, tracking it back to McNeil's wand.

"I see that even with Dumbledore in charge he lets his lackeys act with no decorum. A killing curse? What a talentless hack you must be," he says as the fighting in the room stops.

Harry observes the rest of the group as they look around, wands held high. Generally, they wouldn't use the death curse in such a public fashion. Harry's certain that he hasn't misunderstood the situation. They are here to capture, not kill. They're anxious. They know that McNeil's escalation cannot be good for their continued well-being. Their collective thoughts are right.

Harry flicks his wand up, a serene smile on his face. "Let me show you how it's done." And then he steps.

In that small lapse of activity, Harry uses his senses to scope out the area around him. He realizes the dumb bastards hadn't thought to place any kind of wards. Harry's movements, magical or otherwise are unencumbered, that would be their downfall. A wizard's greatest strength is being able to fight from a distance. Harry didn't like this and chose instead to apparate within the group, a spell on his lips.

Screams of pain and their abrupt silence, followed by a crack of apparition punctuate his reappearance each time, mid-cast, ready to strike the next unsuspecting wizard down. They never learn.

In his spurt of rapid movement, he lost sight of McNeil, his intended target. Like his brother before him, Ryan McNeil would not leave this fight alive. Aurors on the inside are being replaced from somewhere outside the building.

Harry waves his wand across his body, causing an expanding field energy to spread outward pushing against everything, throwing it away from him. Tables, bits of broken chairs, glass and the fallen bodies of downed Aurors become projectile weaponry.

The remaining Aurors inside the building and those seeking entrance into the fray are hurled outside. Harry steps their direction, vanishing through apparition, and appearing directly in front of them.

Their eyes widen and they jerk back in fear. The sight makes Harry smile once more. While he might not revel in fear mongering and torture, but sometimes a good fight was all it takes to get the blood flowing. Before he could cast his spell, runes flare on the ground around him.

The feeling of gravity intensifies around him, trying to make him one with the ground. Harry thinks back to the encounter that brought him back to Britain. He remembers thinking to himself that they were improving, their traps were getting better-, this just wouldn't do. They are improving.

As soon as the rune-effect grabs him, he tries apparition, that doesn't work. Harry attempts to activate his emergency portkey, and gets a punch to the gut for his troubles. Resolving himself to use magic to escape, he starts chanting a spell that he thought would counter it. Panic has not yet began to set in. If this doesn't work, then he would have no choice then but to start using magic outside the realm of the average wizard.

As he speaks the counter charm, the group circles around him, their group getting tighter. Some have smiles on their faces, thinking the battle over. Others are more cautious. They remember what Diagon Alley had looked like at the end of Harry Potter's failed assassination of Dumbledore. It had been total destruction, buildings that had stood for centuries, collapsed, the muggle side of the alley peaking through.

His attempt at a counter-spell fails, their trap is solid. Whoever engineered it had tailored it to him specifically. He wouldn't able to break loose without using brute force. Harry readies himself. From the back of the group, Harry sees that smarmy fuck McNeil stagger to the front. "I expected you to be a puddle on the ground by now, Potter," says McNeil.

"That's funny, I seem to recall your brother looking much the same, yet here I stand," snarls Harry. McNeil's eyes widen, the man's earlier rage revisits him. Harry feels an intense satisfaction at the man's outrage. A person as weak-willed as the man in front of him is child's play when it comes to manipulation.

Harry's preparations done, he twirls his wand in a complex pattern. His grip tightens on his wand until his knuckles turn white. The barrier holding him in fills with white light too bright to see. The Aurors recoil, many stunned that he's able to even move under the force of the gravity trap. He has been under its effec for going on ten minutes, well beyond the expected ability for the wizard to resist.

With their attention elsewhere, namely protecting their eyes, Harry drops a small cube on the ground. An invention of Bill's, that during the war he had used to great success. A ward sapper. Many a pureblood wizard manor had fallen to this little bit of magical engineering. A good wizard is always prepared.

Around him the ground rumbles as the runes on the cube light up from contact with the outer edge of the circle. The energy they're using to contain him is turned against it as the sapper soaks it all up.

The cube flashes. Once. Twice. On the third, Harry raises the strongest personal shield he can manage.

The explosion from the sapper being overcharged vaporizes the closest Aurors, many turns to run and are ashed where they stand. Harry Potter is thrown into the air, his shield barely protecting him.

His lungs feel like there's a Hippogriff sitting on his chest and it hurts to draw breath. He reaches the top of his arc, and as he starts to descend, his own emergency portkey activates, and he's whisked away.


	4. Chapter 4

Harry comes to. Around him it's dark, and in the distance, he can hear the sound of waves crashing against rocks, dim illumination from the entrance of the cave he's now in makes the blood on his hand's shimmer. "Huh," Harry says to no one, "this is familiar."

He falls unconscious.

-  
Harry regains consciousness much later, he can tell the passage of time by the fact that the dim light from the cave entrance is dark. So it must be mid-to-late evening. Harry moves, his body is stiff. His joints creak and crack, and as he rolls to his side, his back pops.

Fighting against that rune-trap took more out of him than he thought initially. Adrenaline is a hell of a thing.

Harry staggers to his feet, as his vision adjusts to the chamber around him, he notices there's a new addition. A fire is burning brightly in the center of the chamber when he had passed out, he had been close to the outer edge of the room.

In the distance, he can hear the steady drip-drip of water edging down stalactites into a body of water. The entrance is far enough away that the sound of waves can't be heard anymore due to the lively, crackling sound of the fire.

He wonders briefly where so much dry would have come from. Then, off to the left, he see's illumination coming towards him, an eerie shadow being cast against the wall. Harry palms his wand in preparation for a fight. He finally notices that he has bandages wrapped around his hands.

The approaching figure rounds the corner, by her illuminated wand, Harry sees the young scowling face of Ginny Weasley.

Harry sighs, pocketing his wand. "Good t-" before he can say anything, Ginny is in his personal space, smacking him solidly across the face. She spits at his feet. Her face is flushed and red, contrasting nicely with her auburn hair. "You have some fucking nerve, Potter, abandoning me here." Harry raises his hands trying to placate the fiery-headed woman's anger. It's too late to calm her down though, in her solitude she had been saving her anger, should she see him again, and Ginny intends for him to feel all of it.

"Don't you speak to me, don't you try and calm me down. I haven't seen hide nor hair of you in ten fucking years, and suddenly you waltz back into my life - a wanted man I might add - and now I'm sitting in a fucking cave in the middle of nowhere. I have every right to be pissed at you, Harry Potter."

Ginny pauses then to catch her breath to continue her tirade. If the situation was different, he would be turned on by her anger. It was always her most appealing quality, in his opinion. "Let me speak, please Ginny," Harry says. His voice is calm but does nothing to quell the woman's anger. Instead of giving permission for him to speak vocally, she gestures impatiently with her hands for him to start.

"It's my fault. Yes, I know. I have no excuse for just vanishing for ten years. Yes. I am a wanted man. But there is no answer that I can give you, right now, that will make you understand. I'm sorry." Harry feels more emotional than he intended. His hands run through his hair as he takes a deep breath. He realizes that his voice is elevated while he spoke. He calms himself, finding his center, before continuing.

"I should not have just walked into the bar without a disguise. That's my fault. It's drawn undue attention to you. That's why I sent you here, I didn't want to run the risk of someone like Mad-eye getting to you before I could speak to you again. I underestimated him, he told me that he was watching you, watching everyone. It was my own damned foolish fault for not paying it any heed-" Harry's own speech falters then.

His sincerity is having a better effect on Ginny than any other kind of placating. Her anger has softened, and he can tell that she just wants to be consoled. Harry spreads his arms wide and Ginny runs to him, burying her face into his neck sobbing.

She strikes him on the chest with her fist, and through her sobs against his neck, he can hear "I loved you Harry Potter and you left me. I would have gone anywhere with you. You just had to ask."

Harry doesn't know what to say. The complete one-eighty of the woman's emotions is hard for him to wrap his head around. Her anger he can understand. What he can't understand is her confession of love. Maybe it's the tears. He's terrible with crying women after all.

Instead, he wraps his arms tighter around her. Physical contact doing more than words ever could.

Eventually Ginny calms down, and the two of them take a seat around the fire. Ginny had just finished explaining to Harry what it was like finding him on the floor-

"You weren't moving, and I could barely tell that you were breathing. They must have given you a run for your money to be in such a state." Harry shook his head, he downplaying the events. "They caught me with something new. Something they haven't tried to use on me before, usually, I'm more prepared."

Talking more to herself than to Harry, Ginny whispers "So, that's where Hermione has been." Harry's eyes widen. Whether her words for meant for him, it made total sense. Out of all of his friends, Harry knew less about Hermione than any of them. After Hogwarts, she had gone into the ministry under the guise of Research and Development.

That obviously meant the Unspeakables. Thinking back to the crumpled list in his pocket, Harry reevaluates his priorities. He had considered her easiest to approach but forgot her most defining aspect; her complete devotion to authority.

During their days in Hogwarts, Hermione had always been the voice of reason. It would make sense to Harry, now, that the reason he hadn't heard from her wasn't that she was busy, it was that she couldn't. And while he couldn't link the rune-trap back to her directly, he knew that the average Ministry worker or even an Unspeakable would come up with something as direct as manipulating gravity. It was too muggle for a wizard to consider.

Harry now having his next objective, spent the rest of the evening getting as much information as he could from Ginny. It was easiest to ask questions about her family.

While Harry had thought about Ginny's whispered words, the room had fallen silent, Ginny had not continued to speaking after her last remark. Across from him, Ginny stared into the flames, her mind somewhere far away.

Harry slapped his hands together, the smacking sound serving to startle her, and draw her attention back to him. "So, how is your family. I know about Bill, but I don't know anything about anyone else. How are they?" Asks Harry. His voice is anxious. He feels excitement for the first time since stepping foot into Britain, but mostly anxiety. He's not certain he's going to like some of the answers he gets.

Before Ginny can answer he changes his mind and asks a more direct question. "How are your parents?" While he had missed his friends dearly, he had missed his surrogate mother and father Arthur and Molly Weasley more.

Ginny smiles, takes a deep breath and begins to tell him everything he missed in his ten-year absence. Despite being in a cave, the atmosphere is domestic. Two old friends reminiscing, telling tales of joy, and tales of sadness. It warms Harry to his bones, better than any fire could have. Harry had learned a long ago to take a moment when the moment was given. Be it in a cave, or in the middle of a war.

As their conversation progressed, deeper into the night, the entrance of the cave grew lighter as daylight approached. Ginny has fallen asleep, her head in Harry's lap. He moves to place her on a conjured pillow and pins a note by her side.

Harry walks to the cave entrance, the sun peaking over the horizon, and with a crack, he's gone. He has things to do.


End file.
